Inching my way towards a cure.

Golden Buzzers

As the end of 2018 approaches, I am reflective and melancholy. It is now 4 years that I have been in remission. We are heading into 2019, the year that I have had circled in my head for the past 48 months, I remember I used to count the number of months that I was in remission. Then I was able to count years. . If I can make it to 5 years, then I am considered cured of Hodgkins Lymphoma and no longer a patient in remission from Hodgkins.

Being a cancer survivor changes your life. Every moment means something. Every decision you weigh carefully. Sometimes I take life too seriously and sometimes I am impulsive, without a care in the world. It is difficult tight rope to balance.

We are planning a celebration for the five year anniversary. A fundraiser, a way to give back. A way to recognize that I have beat this disease. I still feel like I am holding my breath, waiting for something bad to happen. I don’t want to hold the event too early, because what if. What if the cancer comes back. What if I have to face it again? The chances and percentages are stacked against me regardless of the number of months or years that go by.

I am grateful for so many new experiences. Opportunities that I feel like I have been able to take, that if my treatment had not been successful that we would not have been able to complete. Items checked off on the bucket list.

I love watching golden buzzer videos. Love seeing the looks on the performers faces when the golden tickets come raining down. It is pure happiness. That is exactly how I felt when learned that my twelve chemotherapy treatments were successful and I was in remission, That is how I feel most every day. So grateful, so relieved and so blessed to have the life that we do.

I wonder sometimes how it feels after the golden buzzers and shows are all over and people go back to living their old lives. How does it feel to go back to ordinary lives, with real life worries and stress. After that moment of being on stage and having that experience. It is hard going back. It hard to continue to seek those golden buzzer moments. Your loved ones treat you differently. Sometimes it’s like that after having cancer. You seek out many golden buzzer moments, you seek out those feelings of exhilaration and happiness. You live your life just a tiny bit differently, sometimes wanting and needing more. But worrying that if you achieve it, that it will come to an end.

Life becomes a series of bucket list moments because you are never really sure when you won’t be able to continue checking off those items. I continue to try and live my life with balance, without regret but with a new unwanted caution. The carefree attitude changes with cancer. I have said to many people, I hate that it has done that to me.

January 2, I have an appointment at the cancer centre, every 6 months for 10 years, I will have these appointments. They are anxiety provoking but after they are over, they are affirming and a relief. I know in my heart, that all is ok. And that I have 2019 to look forward to. The year of the cure.

Merry Christmas and Happy 2019.

Banana Pancakes

June 4 is National Cancer Survivor Day. I ask myself, what does it mean to me now - almost 3 years post-cancer treatment and continued remission to be a SURVIVOR? To finish treatment, to hear those two words "cancer free", no evidence of disesase. To be a cancer survivor has different meaning to me on different days. It changes all the time.

 On the day when I am singing at the top of my lungs at a Jack Johnson concert with the love of my life and our best friends, the sunset, open air concert on June 4, National Cancer Survivor day, being a survivor means, I am brought back to my when my kids were babies. Jack Johnson, Curious George CD, playing on a weekend morning, on an afternoon where I worked part-time and we slept for three hours everyday. I dream back of sleepovers at the Lago house, champagne breakfasts with Jack Johnson, staying another night and never wanting to come home and go back to work.  Banana pancakes. Wanting to sleep in and pretend that we didn't have any worries or anywhere to go or be. That song will always stay with me. That care-free feeling we had before cancer changed our lives.

On the day when the oncologist at the Juravinski Centre in Hamilton informed me that I was in remission and the PET scan showed no evidence of disease, being a survivor meant tremendous relief. The month of November that year was the most stressful few weeks that I have ever experienced in my life, waiting for those results.

On the day where I returned to work for the first time in 18 months, being a survivor meant feeling an enormous sense of accomplishment that I was returning to a career that I love and a new role as an Itinerant Developmental Support Teacher, being a survivor felt like a new beginning.

On the day where my daughter tells me she has a lump on her neck, which turned out to be mononucleosis, being a survivor meant having a wave of fear go through me that flashed me back to when I first felt the hard, round olive size lump on my neck. The lump that rolled around, was painful to touch and felt like a marble. Being a survivor that day, was the worry of something happening to one of my children.

On the day where I interviewed and was offered the position for my current role as Special Education Consultant, being a survivor meant realizing a dream and goal that I had been working for. It was a job that I had watched be posted while I was off on sick leave and was unable to apply for. A position that I often wondered when I was in the darkest days of treatment, will I ever return to work? What if I will never get that opportunity?

On the day when I come home from work after a long 12 hour day, emails to answer, my body tired, work stress overcoming me, being a survivor means, a realization that I need to find a better balance, a reminder that there is more to life than our work and careers. A reminder to put away the computer and phone and take care of myself and my family.

On the day where I am sitting on the dock at the cottage, watching our friends and kids jump off the dock at sunset, celebrating MOTY weekend with my best friends, a clink of a glass, a kayak ride, a feeling that "life is pretty damn good", being a survivor means a gratefulness that I am able to enjoy the sweet things in life once again.

"Banana Pancakes"

Can't you see that it's just raining?
Ain't no need to go outside...

But, baby, you hardly even notice
When I try to show you this
Song is meant to keep you
From doing what you're supposed to.
Waking up too early
Maybe we can sleep in
Make you banana pancakes
Pretend like it's the weekend now

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside

But just maybe, like a ukulele
Momma made a baby
Really don't mind the practice
'cause you're my little lady
Lady, lady, love me
'cause I love to lay here lazy
We could close the curtains
Pretend like there's no world outside

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside

My Fight Song

This is my fight song Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

Yesterday I went to the Cancer Centre for my six month check-up with a nurse practitioner Marg. I have graduated from the care of Dr Stevens my primary oncologist. I continue to anticipate these appointments with mostly comfort in knowing that I will hear that I continue to be in remission mixed with a a tiny amount of guarded worry that I don't want to be caught off guard by bloodwork results that are unexpected. I am happy to report that I continue to be in remission and am nearing that two year mark where the chance of relapse begins to diminish. I came home happy and cheerful, looking forward to a celebratory steak dinner with my family. I also arrived home to an emotional video of a fellow cancer survivor singing "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten. I really can't listen to that song without tearing up. Whenever it plays I envision myself needing to play that song over and over again should I be faced with a re-occurrence of Hodgkins Lymphoma. I continue to fight the battle of anxiety and worry, and move forward everyday. I have almost completed my first full year of work in three years. I can't wait for the summer to rejuvenate, relax and enjoy my friends and family. I am grateful for the opportunities that are before us and am confident that in three years time I will be celebrating a cure!

New Wishes

I remember a time where we measured milestones in terms of our kids walking, moving out cribs, first bike, first day of school, staying alone for the first time, losing a tooth, first goal, grade eight graduation, first boyfriend, first girlfriend, driver's license. Now the word milestone takes on such a new meaning to me. Every milestone I am grateful that I get to be here. Living and celebrating. I celebrate milestones in terms of months now. 6 months of chemotherapy, one year of recovery, 6 months of remission, the first two years with fear of relapse, and five years to a cure. Last January, we hosted an evening to celebrate 6 months in remission.
Fast forward one year and I am looking at 18 months since I was found to be in remission.

Another marker to a cure. It's amazing to me how quickly life has returned back to normal. I am loving work and we had a busy Christmas season, hosting our family here on Boxing Day. I invited some close friends to join me for an evening at SocialArt KW to paint a picture titled "New Wishes". I felt that the name was appropriate to symbolize my hopes for the next year to come. The ladies who joined me have all played a huge role in my life and recovery. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to celebrate with me. Your friendship
means the world to me. Two years ago this weekend, I was facing the scariest test I would face. The waiting between appointments knowing that I had growing lumps in my neck of an unknown origin, was one of the most difficult things I have ever faced. Jason, knowing that I needed to fill the empty space of the weekend, so that I wouldn't be researching the internet to find every worse case scenario suggested that we go for a drive to find the elusive snowy owl. After a short drive outside the city, we were rewarded with two snowy owls in a snow-covered field. This past weekend on Family Day, Jason and I again ventured out and again were treated to a sighting of a snowy owl perched high on a post. My friends have said that they feel that us finding the snowy owls two years ago was a sign that everything was going to be ok. I fully believe that again, our snowy owl is assuring us that I will continue to enjoy remission and will look forward to the next milestone. Two years in remission in July. A symbol and a great milestone to reach. Love you all.

The bells are ringing!

And the Grinch with his Grinch feet, ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled, till his puzzler was sore, Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. 

"What if Christmas, he thought doesn't come from a store?, What if Christmas perhaps, means a little bit more?"
 The tree is sparkling, the gifts are wrapped, lists are made, we enjoy lazy mornings of sleeping in and running last minute errands. It is the end of 2015, my year of recovery. My year of returning to work, my year of putting my journey with cancer farther and farther behind me. I have enjoyed incredibly good health this fall, a minor cold which I was able to withstand better than my family members. 15 months from my last chemotherapy treatment, my energy levels are good, my spirits are high - there have been some difficult times for people in our lives who have lost loved ones and I struggle at times to keep my anxiety levels manageable. The smallest of worries can still affect me quite strongly as I fear "something bad" happening. I know that this is normal for those who have gone through a cancer diagnosis and thankfully it passes fairly quickly. We have such a full busy life that I am able to jump back into my hectic new role as Developmental Support Teacher, juggling a large caseload, driving the kids to work, friends, gymnastics training, hockey games. Our world is back to the way we knew it and the worries take a back seat to our front view of LIFE!

Today I return to the Grand River Cancer Centre, it is my regular 4 month check-up time. In retrospect, scheduling it on December 23, was to avoid missing work but in my heart, I know it will be the best early Christmas present for me, I fully believe that I will be in continued remission. But there is a tiny tiny part of me that wonders, now that my guard is down, will they find something in my bloodwork that is cause for concern? Will it change our Christmas? I also know that returning to the Cancer Centre is a reminder of all the patients who are facing Christmas while in treatment, I see the faces lined up to register at the front desk, every chair taken waiting for bloodwork, the uncertainty about where they are headed. For those people, I pray for healing and respite from treatment for them. I wonder if they could see the smile on my face and know that I am at the end of this long path. They certainly knew when that gong rang out in the foyer. I was pleased to hear those bells three times while I waited to see Dr. Stevens.

I am so excited to share that my blood counts continue to be perfect! My ESR rate is 4, which means the level of inflammation in my body is low. A soft predictor for a return of lymphoma. What does this mean for me? This was my last visit with Dr. Stevens, I will now see an oncology nurse practitioner every 6 months. What a huge milestone for me! It really has to be the best Christmas present ever!

Appreciating Life

This past month has been a mix of relief that our lives have returned back to a sense of normalcy. Homework, our careers, kids jobs, sports, learning to drive, boyfriends and girlfriends, friendships and new colleagues. I am feeling absolutely wonderful and strong. My new role has come at the perfect time and I am feeling such a sense of accomplishment and being right where I should be. Cancer has fast become a distant memory, only to be brought forward when faced with loss and the fragility of life. Life returning back to normal also means putting my own family's past struggles aside to support and recognize that for unknown, unfair reasons, life can end far soon. This realization causes me to pause and really acknowledge that I have been given a gift, the gift of life. Why God did choose me to face a battle and come out victorious while others are chosen to be called to Heaven? In a two week span, our Lackner hearts were broken by the loss of two young men, really they are boys. Two special boys who both crossed my path and touched my heart. One facing a cancer diagnosis with such bravery and courage that he became a teacher to his classmates, teachers and family as they watched him fulfill his dreams, facing a battle that sadly he wasn't meant to win. His short life taught us so much. The other dear boy was a student who touched me in ways that few have. I wrote a tribute to him that I posted to the funeral website that really sums up my feelings.
"To say the words heartbroken is an understatement. There are no words I can say to you to provide comfort or make sense of this tragic loss. You are well aware of the impact that your son left on my heart during the three years I supported his learning at Lackner Woods. Without a doubt, he knew he had found his way into my heart, and played that to his advantage many times. Even when I wanted to be firm with him, I could hardly keep a straight face when he would say “Sorry Mrs Low” in his little voice, ready to take off out the door to play with his many friends. You could say I had a soft spot for him. Your son persevered, never gave up, accepted help and as a result made astounding gains as a young boy. This carried him far and he was destined for continued greatness in his field where he had found passion. I take comfort that when we ran into each other recently, I got that hug from him and he could see several years later that the look in my eye was still there. He knew “this teacher is still cheering me on”. May you gather strength to endure from all the people who have been touched in some way by Cameron and allow them to shoulder some of your grief and lift you up with the many stories and memories that they will want to share with you."
To see their parents mourning the loss of their boys broke my heart. Another parent burying their son, the third time we have supported our friends in one month. How precious life is. How often we take it for granted. A gift given to me that I will never find myself taking anything for granted again, because how quickly can things change. To E.G and C.B rest in peace. Thank you for what you both brought to my career as teacher. Another month past, another month closer to what will be considered a cure. So incredibly blessed.
 

It Takes a Village....

I was ready to write a post on my first month back at work but then life happened and my focus shifted. We received the sad news of our neighbour Andrew's death this past weekend. We lived for just over 10 years on Misty Street with 4 sets of neighbours whom we share so many memories with. Backyard parties, garage hanging out, standing outside watching the kids play, walks around the block, baseball on the path, birthdays, lobster dinners, New Year's, theme dinners and kids running back and forth on the sidewalk. Andrew was a brother to Spencer and the two of them were inseparable. It was Andrew and Spencer, a package deal to Cam and Matthew, they were road hockey buddies, babysitters and the older boys going off to highschool, with their first cars, loud music and new friends. To Andrew and Spencer, we were the crazy neighbours who had their Mom calling in sick to work on Monday mornings and the reason for never having ice in the freezer from the margarita afternoons. I said today, it takes a village to raise a child. Our kids realize now how special those memories are. Watching Cody and Spencer and their friends mourning the loss of their protector and partner in crime was heartbreaking to us. It is hard to fathom losing a child, a husband, a daddy to his princess. It was a beautiful service today, just the right amount of humour, sadness, memories and exactly what Andrew would have wanted. It made us smile and made us cry. Even though many years have gone by, no one can replace those ten years. The first ten years of my kids lives. I'm not sure we will have an experience of having neighbours like that again. My most recent memory of Andrew is two years ago when I ran into him at Concordia Club. He was so excited to see me. He ran and got shooters for us to toast each other. I kept saying "you're all grown up, you're a man! How did that happen?" In the blink of an eye. We shared a few drinks and many memories. The pride he was telling his friends about his neighbours and how crazy we were when we lived on Misty Street, didn't mean much back then but now I look at that moment and feel great happiness knowing that he saw us in that light. That we were important people in his life and for that I am grateful. We raise a glass to Andrew tonight. Catch you on the flip side....

Jason showing Andrew the tricks to garage parties.